ZIMBABWE’S health sector is once again in the spotlight — and for all the wrong reasons.
The government is under pressure to fill 14 000 vacant posts left by nurses and doctors who have fled the country in recent years.
But while the recruitment drive may appear to be a solution on paper, it amounts to little more than a cosmetic fix to a crisis that runs far deeper.
The mass exodus of medical professionals did not happen by accident.
It is the result of years — even decades — of neglect, poor remuneration, crumbling infrastructure and chronic underfunding.
The nation’s hospitals and clinics, once considered among the best in the region, have become hollow shells of what they used to be.
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Equipment lies idle, medicines are scarce and basic supplies such as painkillers, gloves or bandages often run out.
For doctors and nurses, this is not merely frustrating — it is demoralising.
They are expected to save lives without the tools to do so and to perform miracles on starvation wages.
Some hospitals operate with obsolete equipment that predates independence.
Others rely on donations from churches or international organisations just to stay open.
Under such conditions, it is no wonder that skilled professionals are leaving in droves for countries that value and adequately reward their expertise.
The government’s latest announcement — that it will prioritise nurses who have served at least 15 years when processing verification letters for overseas jobs — does not solve the problem.
It merely ties down an already disgruntled workforce.
For years, authorities have used bureaucratic hurdles to frustrate those seeking better opportunities abroad.
Verification letters, which are essential for nurses applying for international jobs, have become a new battleground between professionals seeking dignity and a State trying to stop the bleeding through coercion.
Ironically, the government has collected over US$3 million — according to reports — from nurses and other health workers to process these letters, yet many applicants have not received them.
This not only raises ethical questions about transparency and accountability, but also exposes the extent to which authorities will go to paper over cracks instead of addressing the underlying rot.
The problem is not a shortage of people willing to serve; it is the system they are expected to serve within.
Filling vacancies without improving conditions will achieve nothing, but a temporary illusion of progress.
The recruits will eventually join the same exodus if their working environment remains hostile, under-resourced and demotivating.
Zimbabwe’s health workers have long been the unsung heroes of a broken system.
They have endured years of a mockery of a salary, a shortage of protective clothing even during pandemics and hospitals without electricity or running water.
Many continue to serve out of sheer patriotism or because they are unable to leave.
But patriotism has its limits.
To fix the health sector, government must go beyond token gestures.
It must invest meaningfully in salaries, equipment and infrastructure.
It must also respect its professionals — not punish them for seeking better opportunities.
The billions spent on grand projects or unnecessary foreign travel could, instead, modernise hospitals, stock pharmacies and ensure no mother dies because there is no nurse on duty or no oxygen cylinder in the ward.
The illusion of reform through recruitment is unsustainable.
True reform lies in restoring dignity to the profession, ensuring fair compensation and providing the resources necessary for health workers to do their jobs effectively.
Without this, Zimbabwe will keep training doctors and nurses for export — while its citizens continue to die of preventable diseases at home.
In the end, the crisis is not about numbers; it is about priorities.
Filling 14 000 posts means little if those filling them will soon be looking for the nearest exit.
The government must stop pretending the problems do not exist — and start fixing them.